Dark Prince
by slasher13
Summary: "I think I like him because he was creepy". Jacklen Fozzie is just a chick that can't stop thinking about a kid that never even looked her way: Tate Langdon. Whether it's staring dreamily at him in class or secretly following him down a unused staircase after school, Jack soon finds out he's not so oblivious to her as she had thought. Tate/OC teenage love story (Pre-Murderhouse)
1. Crepxy

He always comes late to school. Always. He always tramples into class with flashy motions, a swift swing to open the door, causing it to bang against the wall, a bag slung over one shoulder, lazily rested. He never makes eye contact with me or anyone when rushing into class. He just stares down at the floor.

He was late _every single day_ I knew him and he always rushed into class. It was like he sauntered to the classroom door and then just randomly made a big entrance. It's not like he was in a hurry to get into Chemistry class, nobody was.

Except me, I suppose.

He was always staring, with these dark eyes, across the way, tapping his pen lightly at the ordinary line that was his mouth.

He would never stare at me, but he'd stare my way. He was always blankly glowering out the window, which was right next to me, always taping his pen against his mouth, bumping it into his chin every now and again.

Though he won't notice me, I always noticed him. I'm barely passing that class because of this kid, too.

I have Chemistry 3rd period, two periods before lunch. Boy, don't I have a long and excruciating wait for my Lunch period to arrive.

Lunch was the second time I would see him inside of the school day. He was never hasty inside of lunch like he is in Chemistry.

He always was waltzing to his dusty seat, alone in the corner table, taking his sweet ass time to chew the food he had and not pay attention to anything but that itself.

I made sure, without being obvious, to secretly make sure I could always kinda see him.

I mean, he was a pretty eerie guy, always wearing darker colors and always having a look of insanity twinkling within his eyes. However, his medium length, platinum blonde contrasted in such a weird way, that it was almost ironic that he seemed like such a dark, hard person, but had such light, soft-looking hair.

It was so attractive to me and I couldn't explain why.

I think I liked him because he was creepy.

But it wasn't a creepy that made me scared and uncomfortable. To be bluntly honest, it was sorta sexy….

Okay, very sexy, yes. In creepy ways. He was sexy _and_ creepy, but he was sexy _because_ he was creepy, too. He was both. He was Crepxy: Creepy + Sexy.

Don't get me wrong though, not just anyone could be creepy and pull it off so it's actually attractive in any way. Oh no, only few people had the ability to be strikingly gorgeous all whilst having a gothically weird persona. It was admirable. And he did it so well, without even trying. He was naturally Crepxy.

He was like a demented dream I always waited for. Like I was a fair maiden and he was my prince. No sparkling gold shoulder pads and crème colored suit. God, no.

All black attire, that's what I saw that boy in. A black, metal armor that I can't help but imagine some midnight purple somewhere faded in there… Mmm…

_Yeah, I was totally gone._

He twirled his buttery spaghetti into his mouth and leaned back in his seat. I watched, grasping my sandwich tightly, mayo plopping onto the table, watching as the butter glossed his lips, making them look glorious as he childishly slurped in the pasta.

_Completely gone, to be exact._

His obscure eyes, then suddenly, flickered my way. My heart jumped a mile then stopped in midair.

I gulped and quickly forced my eyes to the ham stuffed into the white bread I was holding.

Crap, I hope to God he didn't catch me gawking at him eating buttered spaghetti. He'd think I'm a freak if he knew, and if he saw the look of adoration I was giving him as he ate.

After staring and burning holes into the meat, I soon glanced up to see if his eyes were on me or...

They weren't.

I sighed and threw down my sandwich, folding my arms in relief. I wonder what he thinks about when he looks at his food so intensely.

He just sits, stares, then scarves it down.

He looks pretty cute when he chews to one side like that.

I rip a piece off of my sandwich and chew vigorously. Not slow and cute like him. I was exactly three tables away from him, sitting here in agony.

I want to go over to him and tell him that I like his shirt because it reminds me of the sky when it's nighttime and then he'd tell me he wanted to kiss me because my lips remind him of pink roses and then we'd kiss.

But, that's such a stupid fantasy.

Yes, it is, because boys aren't that thoughtful, to be honest. Well, at least the boys I've known.

When I said in my daydream that my lips reminded him of pink roses and stuff, remember? I would love to think he's poetic. Maybe he is, how would I really know? I never even breathed next to him let along talk about night and lips. So there is still hope.

I smile unconsciously, at my thoughts. That hope keeps me going, man, ya' know? I like the kid a whole lot and I'm blind about everything else but him. I think.

But, lunch is the second time in my day I see him, officially. My free period, which is my last period of the day, I use to go to the library for homework matters. But ever since the day I left early and skipped that period instead of staying because my cousins came in from Virginia, I saw him walking down the stairs to leave the building, too.

The stairs on the side of the school, to be exact.

Not the main staircase.

So now every day I leave school 8th period through the side entrance because it's usually just me and him. And in those few seconds I see the back of his blonde head quickly going down the stairs, I make sure I stay a little behind him, this way I can admire him from afar.

It's easier and much more convenient to hold my binder close to my chest and starry eye watch him trudged down the marble steps of this place.

I recently live for those few moments to watch his arms swing back and forth gently as he takes each stomp. And the way his hair lightly bounces in sync with the way his legs bring themselves up like he's bouncing a soccer ball with his knees.

I like those days where he's hasty and rushing to get home, because he's in front of me by a lot, so I can walk a normal pace even when I don't want to be seen.

He goes so fast sometimes I hardly catch him when he runs through the small corridor before the exit. That's the only thing that sucks about those days; He leaves so quickly and I see little of him.

I think I really like those days because I don't have to worry about him spinning around to look at me, it's a quick jog down the steps and a stride through the hallway and out the door he goes. That's all.

However, the days where he strolls down the steps, carefully stepping on each step, taking his sweet ass time are the more risky days. I need to be extra careful with hiding and not gaining his attention.

And his timing isn't the best when he decides that he has all the time in the world and he strolls and lollygags. It takes him longer to get to the staircases those days, and he _cannot_ be behind me, or even next to me, or even two feet away.

Uh-uh, no way, he'll look at me.

And he'll notice me.

And God knows I don't need that to happen, I would never know what to say.

Or how to be.

Or what to do.

Or how to do it.

So basically if my dark prince ever catches his fair maiden following him around, I'm royally screwed.

It was the last period of my day in this hell hole and I grabbed my bag and threw all my stuff into it carelessly, rushing like a mad woman. It was a Wednesday, which meant I had to babysit The Rooney kids.

The Rooney's had this awesome date night, every Wednesday. They'd go to all these cool places and enjoy marriage the way it was meant to be enjoyed. Their kids were pretty cool, and easy to manage also. It was easy pay, and I enjoyed it.

I also enjoyed that their home was right across the way from _his_ house.

Sometimes, when I was making dinner for the kids or cleaning the dishes, I'd look out the kitchen window and see him. Whether I saw his shadow walking in a room or he was taking out trash. I saw him with his pretty blonde hair and his lovely, dark eyes.

So close but yet still so far.

It was almost pathetic, I thought to myself sometimes.

So utterly stupid that I fawned over this guy in such a way that I could barely contain the excitement of even seeing him across the street. My adrenaline raced as well as my heart, even when his name was spoken…

"Tate Langdon," The teacher, Mr. Thatcher calls out for attendance. My heart jumps as I hear the sacred words, I stop writing and look up. Mr. Thatcher flips through papers and sighs. He pushes up his glasses with a disappointed look on his face as he shook his head. He takes the pencil and fills in the dot for his absence. He continues to call names, basically finished with the list.

Mr. Thatcher plops the sheets down on his desk, pushes up from his chair and grabs a dry erase marker. Mr. Thatcher begins to speak to the class and as if right on cue, _he_ waltzed through the door.

The most attractive and alluring person I've ever met.

The best of the best.

The almighty Dark Prince.

_Tate Langdon_.


	2. Chemistry

Tate Langdon has the prettiest hair. When I sat in Chemistry I just noticed how pretty his hair actually is.

It's soft, light blonde pieces that curl on the tips of it, creating a messy but adorable bedhead effect.

Sometimes, when he walks in the light I can see shimmers of almost white and golden hair streaked within his mane.

I was just sitting there, admiring his hair and all, and then I saw his head turn to the side, in my direction. The movement caused me to lower my gaze at his jawline, and I admired that for a moment or so.

I gazed from his jawline to his neck down, to his biceps and then his collarbone and back to his jawline, where his blonde hair curled around the sharp edge…

While leaning on one hand, I was just appreciating how attractive he was to me, when all the sudden, I felt weird.

I felt a gaze upon me, so I moved only my eyes to my teacher. Mr. Thatcher had his back to us.

So I shrugged it off and looked back at Tate.

My eyes widened and my heart panicked, stopping but going to fast all at the same time. My mouth slightly opened in anxiety, I breathed out heavily.

I gulped nervously and close my mouth as I maintain eye contact with Tate Langdon.

He is looking at me, across the way, intently. He's watching me with those dark eyes of his, making me melt underneath their silent commands.

I wet my lips, for they seem to have gone dry from my nervous, mental breakdown. His eyes flicker down to them, and back up to my eyes, making me bit my tongue.

I was getting lost; almost intrigued by the way he was looking at me. I was staring into the black circles and they were bleak and cold to my own eyes, which were probably like stained glass; so see through and obvious.

He cocked his head to the side, before leaning against the wall his desk was up against and you'll never guess what happened after that.

He _grinned_ at me.

My heart fainted, as he soon then smiled this small smile with his cute dimples around it, into my eyes his own bore. Then he broke eye contact and looked forward, with the ghost of a smile casted over his pink lips.

I cleared my throat, stunned by what just occurred, though I did the same and looked ahead at Mr. Thatcher. I stared down at my binder after a while, wondering why he was still smiling after he looked away.

Why was he even looking?

Did he catch me checking him out?

Or did he just accidentally notice me staring him down like a predator to their prey?

I groaned in embarrassment and dramatically banged my head on my desk. I'm such a loser. The first time I came into any contact with Tate Langdon and he ends the moment by being amused that I'm an idiot.

I'm a joke, he probably just decided that I am a crazed, stalker-psycho chick who has a schoolgirl crush on him.

I opened my eyes with my face smushed alongside my desk, my arms around my head. I saw really up close wood and a little light from the outside world, making some pieces of my hair shine.

I'm probably not even his type. He looks like a guy that would have tons of girls kissing the ground he waltz on, but he doesn't care for all those other girls.

He probably wants a badass Goth chick with a tongue ring or something.

I'm not as Gothic as I would like to think and tongue rings are a no-go for me.

I'm more Indie Rock if anything.

I feel like maybe his type is way darker and shady than me, a bit more like him.

It would only make sense.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes at the wood I scowled into, kicking one of the legs of my desk with my foot.

"Jacklen?" Mr. Thatcher voice questioned. I quietly gasped, lifting my head suddenly.

"Yes Mr. Thatcher?" my voice was shaky, trying to clear my throat out.

"Are you alright over there? Your head was down," Mr. Thatcher eyebrows furrowed, a worried look appearing on his face.

I sucked in air, my thoughts catching up to his words.

"Um, yeah, I'm just a little, um," I glanced down then back up.

"A little light headed that's all," I stated quickly, but casually. He frowned.

"So you're fine?" He asked once again, to make sure I guess.

I inhaled and smiled small.

"Promise," I said, putting a weak thumbs-up.

He nodded slowly, and then turned back to the lesson. I huffed and rolled my eyes, leaning on my elbows and put my hands on my face, rubbing and massaging.

When I finished, I pursed my lips, and played with my fingers, until I heard a low laugh.

I turned to find Tate Langdon chuckling at me, eyes glued to mine.

When he finished, he just smiled and his eye lids lowered, giving himself bedroom eyes; Unintentional or not, it was enough for me to overdose on attractiveness and drop dead.

Of course I didn't, in the middle of Chemistry.

I just simply smiled nervously at him, then hurriedly turned, grabbing my purple pen and leaning down as if I were interested in drawing doodles, trying to ignore the fact that he was still looking at me.

I knew he was.

I could see his corky, little smirk with my peripheral vision and it was killing me slowly.

I don't remember how long I sat there, stiff, concentrated on my paper hoping he'd look away.

He didn't.

The rest of the class, he watched me.

I'd glance his way every now and again to see if he was still watching, just to find him staring at me. Panicky, I hastily spun my head back toward my paper.

After the 3rd glance I learned my lesson the hard way and realized he decidedI was going to be the center of his attention today in Chemistry.

He rested his back against his seat and had that stupid damn pen tapping at his mouth, eyes gazing at me.

I am not going to lie to you and tell you I was entirely nervous and my knees were buckling.

I mean, I was sweating bullets with his eyes glued to me so intensely. I couldn't exactly look at him for longer than 2 seconds or I'd faint, I was so anxious.

I was actually feeling timid, the way he was just openly staring at me, no shame at the moment.

Maybe it was because he knew he controlled the situation.

Because to be honest with you, I would do anything he wanted hypnotized under that gaze of his.

But control didn't matter right now.

All that matter was that I could check off 'being noticed by Tate Langdon' off my invisible list of life goals.

I finally built up enough courage, to sit up straight and hold my composure. He cocked his head at this, lowering the pen from his mouth. I breathed slow and steady, turning my head leisurely to him.

I met his eyes, and at first, it was difficult, ya know, to stare straight into them.

They reminded me kinda like black holes in the galaxy; the color of them looked actually pure black. But, I still felt his pupils burning into me, making me heat up.

I inhaled big and turned his way. I closed my half-open mouth that I have been breathing heavily with and finally looked him dead in the eyes.

His eyes widened, suddenly looking as if he lost all confidence and broke contact, looking down at his desk. He tensed up his shoulders, leaning forward.

His focus than became his pen which he twirled around in his fingers, refusing to look at me. Minutes have gone by now and he was still examining his pen.

I couldn't concentrate on the board; I was too distracted by Tate Langdon, who every now and then smiled down at his pen.

He knew I was watching him, so he smiled. He smile wide and coy, and it made me almost lose control.

I can't do this right now; I need to pay attention to Thatcher… I looked at the dull board and sat up straight.

I couldn't help but have the urge to look at him while I lost interest in the jumble of writing on the board,

So, I tried to slickly look at him without being obvious in any way.

As I brought my eyes up to peer at him, my eyes latched onto his.

He _smirked _when I gulped down my poise.

Real smooth, Jack.

The bell rang as if right on cue and the rush of chatter and blur of bodies surrounded me, except I stood in my seat and watched Tate Langdon do the same.

We looked at one another, as everyone exited the classroom.

And just as the last person other than me and him left, he jolted up, tossed his bag over one shoulder and left without one word.

He didn't look back when he walked out like I was hoping he would, but he did have a smile.

And between you and me, it was a very shy looking smile.

He just kept looking at his beat-up shoes, smiling small as he walked out.

And I sat in that classroom until the late bell for the next period started.

And even through the walk to gym and gym class itself, I found it easy to replay Chemistry class over and over again, in my mind.

I couldn't stop thinking about Tate Langdon's smirk and that goddamn pen tapping against it.


End file.
